The Gift
by Mecoda
Summary: Marshall Lee is lost. No matter how hard he might push, he simply can not find the peace that his father once showed him when he was a child. Now, on Christmas, a day no one in Aaa but him remembers, he has a chance to regain that joy and give to the one he loves. Will he take that chance?


**Hi, I'm Mecoda. This is my first adventure Time fanfiction and I hope all of you like it. It's a Christmas story and it has religious themes. Somehow, this is just the way I imagined Marshall Lee would feel about Christmas. Again, I really hope you guys like it. Please read and review to share your thoughts. **

* * *

There are very few things I can remember before the Mushroom war. I was only a tot when it started. I remember playing a game where you kicked a ball into a net. I remember stuffing my face with cookies at my neighbor's house. I especially remember the sweet tones of my father's classical guitar playing gospel songs at church every Sunday.

My father and I were good, rule-abiding church-goers. We went once a week at the appointed time, no more no less. Until one strange Thursday. I woke up to find my father in his usual place on the sofa, his eyes fixated on the T.V. Except he wasn't watching your typical cartoon. Nope, he watched the news. At first I thought it was an action movie. There were young men dressed in army gear, getting into larger versions of my plastic, toy planes. It was thrilling to me.

"Cool!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. Dad gave me a viscous glare and I stumbled back.

"No," he scolded me. "Not cool. This is most definitely not cool."

I watched my father as he scrambled from his seat. He dodged towards a coffee table. He grabbed his keys and I could hear them jingle as he walked.

"C'mon, Marshall. We're going out." My dad's voice was stiff. I wasn't used to him ordering me around.

I resisted him stubbornly. "I'm in my PJ's!"

I was winded as my father wrapped his arm around my gut and slung me over his shoulder.

"We have to get going, Marshall," my father's tone became more desperate. I had never seen him like this. He was always so calm and cool. It frightened me that something could set him off.

Dad rushed out the door and buckled me into my seat in the back of our minivan.

"You're pinching me," I whined as he fastened me my high-chair straps.

"Stay still and it won't hurt," he warned.

After checking all my belts and buckles he closed the door and got into his car himself. I watched as he buckled in, paused and took in a deep breath.

"God, forgive me," he mused under his breath.

My dad backed out of the driveway, swirling awkwardly to the road. I jostled in my seat, suddenly thankful for the belts. We sped and quickly passed other cars. My heart raced as I watched the world go by in a blur.

"Daddy!" I yelled. The adrenaline coursed through my tiny, baby veins. It was overwhelming. I started to feel tears drip from my eyes.

"It's okay, Marshall," my dad reassured me. His voice was soft and cracking with his own tears. "You'll be okay."

We flew down the roads until we arrived in a familiar place and pulled into the parking lot. He didn't bother properly placing the car. He just opened his door and ripped me from my own seat.

"Daddy!" I cried again, seeking his comfort.

"Shhh," he hushed me, rubbing his hand steadily up and down my back. "We're safe now."

He stepped up the stairs, wide eyed at the glorious church towering above us. He turned and pressed his back against the big mahogany door, entering the sanctuary.

I felt as though my skin was dancing above flames. I was not close enough to be burnt but I could feel the heat. I bit my bottom lip, wondering what it would feel like to be able to touch Holy ground. Did it feel like normal ground?

"It's hot," I complained.

I was patted on the back and told it was alright. "I won't drop you here," Dad added.

Seeing us there, the priest ceased his prayer. I noticed some people kneeling in the piers and realized others had rushed here as well.

"Welcome, son," the priest addressed my father. "God bless you." The priest was speaking to me now. I turned my face so I was no longer nuzzled into my father's chest. The Holy Father's eyes were hopeful.

I tried to choke out His name. But, just as I could not set foot on Holy land, the Lord's name was lost to me.

My father and the priest frowned. They had been trying to rehabilitate my demonic defects for quite some time.

"Glob bless," I managed. Glob was my replacement word for God. I said it in my prayers.

The priest smiled a little at my effort and took me from my father's arms. He placed me on a wooden bench.

"Sit here, Marshall," he instructed me. "I need to speak with your father."

They went away to the back office. Curious, I perked up my bat-like ears. Dad told me not to eavesdrop but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know what was happening. What had I seen on the TV?

"The war is a dreadful business," the priest was saying to my father. "But it's not religious or mystical, Mr. Lee. It's pure politics."

"You don't understand." My father sounded frightened. "Politics isn't off limits to Her. She'll manipulate everything! As long as she achieves Chaos it doesn't matter how!"

"My Lord, Mr. Lee. Who are you talking about?"

There was a pause. Dad took in a heavy, shaky breath.

"Her, Father, Marshall's mother...the devil herself."

* * *

I was lying down on the wooden bench with a thick blanket over me. I breathed smoothly and kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

I noticed footsteps. Many new people had started entering the church. They sought guidance here, in regards to the war. Candles were lit all around to offer dim light in the now dark night.

I heard snaps and cracks, through the roof of the building. Through the stain-glass images of our savior, random shots of light flashed. Something was coming. Getting closer and closer.

I heard moans as people started to see reality. Tears were shed by everyone in the house of Lord. Except for me and my father. My head rested in his lap as he stroked my messy, raven hair.

"Marshall," my father said with a tone of grief. "I need you to know something. I need you to promise me to remember."

I looked up at him and saw the desperation in his clouded blue eyes. "Yes, Daddy?"

"If you ever get in trouble...draw a smiley face on the wall."

I giggled. "You're funny Daddy."

He smiled at me for the first time all day.

...

...

Then the bomb fell.

* * *

"Marshall!" I was snapped out of my thoughts to see Fiona, looking at me the way one might look at a baby with a scrapes knee. "What were you saying before?" She asked.

I played off my thought as though I was coolly ignoring her. What had I been saying before? I couldn't remember. I knew it was important. That's when it dawned on me, I looked out Fiona's window to see snow fall to the ground, without the help of Simone, the ice queen. It was the dead of winter. I needed to know what day it was.

I asked Fiona, gazing at her lazily as though I couldn't care less. She went over to her calendar, leaving me for a brief moment.

I turned to my bass, which was seated on my lap as I reclined in the air, to pluck the strings lightly. The sound reverberated loudly through the room, according to my demonic hearing. To anyone else it would have sounded like a low hum.

Fiona came back with a smile on her face, twisting a piece of hair around one of the golden locks that framed her face. It was something she did when she was in daydream land. I wondered what she was thinking about.

"It's the 25th of December. Why?"

Fi batted her eyelashes, drawing my attention. I wasn't sure if she knew how tempting she was being or if it was just some trait God had given her to destroy me. I swear, my soft spot for her was my fatal flaw. It was like Pandora and her box, the Trojans and their horse, the apple of Eden as it was to Adam and Eve.

"No reason," I bluffed.

My words weren't the only lie. I shrugged and looked away indifferently when the truth was I felt like a kid again. I pictured the Christmas tree, lighting up like the stars themselves, the guardianship of Dad's beautiful angel atop the tree, watching over us as we reveled. It was just the two of us. There was no one left in my father's life. After all, he sold his soul to the devil when he had me with my mother. Then she abandoned me before she finally took me in during me early teens...then she ate my fries. It wasn't that bad. I guess it was really just the straw that broke the camels back. Up until then I couldn't care less about the Mushroom war she started. But those fries were MINE!

"Listen, Fi," I cleared my throat and addressed her as casually as I could. I held back gleeful giggles. This would be the first Christmas present I had give since my dad died. "You're curious, right? About other humans and stuff?"

Her eyes widened, glowing like rays of sunlight in the dimly lit living room of the tree house. "Well, duuuuuh!"

I couldn't help but crack a smile. This present was something I couldn't use. I couldn't touch it without the demon blood within me burning. Yet I felt the urge to keep it. It was important to me. But I felt like, through her, I could do my duties as my father's son and read this. I handed her a wrapped gift. My God, I had such a hard time wrapping it. I had to use sticks in the place of my hands so I wouldn't burn to a crisp.

Fiona looked at me hesitantly.

I couldn't fight the joy in my heart any longer. "Come on, Fi," I laughed. "It won't bite."

She looked at it cautiously before raising an eyebrow. "This is for me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Because Christmas is about giving to those you love. She was the first person I have loved since Simone took care of me. I didn't get the chance to give her anything before she went insane. I wasn't missing out this time.

I just grunted. "Because I felt like it. Now open the damn present."

Fiona jumped, a little startled by my sudden irritation but she unwrapped it. Inside was a leather bound book entitled 'The Holy Bible.' She brushed one gentle finger on the cover and gazed at it lovingly.

"Is this a spell book?"

"Sort of," I explained. "Except, it's not about doing magic. It's about Glob and his people."

"There's a book about Glob?" Fiona asked, startled.

I nodded. "But he has a different name to the humans. He's the same person though."

Fiona opened the Book. She read the first page and smiled. "And so God said, 'let there be light.'"

She read a little more in her head. Then she looked up at me as I watched her, utterly dazed by the beauty of this situation.

"God is a nicer name," she pointed out. "Who changed it?"

Me...accidentally.

"Who knows."

Fiona sat down in her sofa. I floated over, perching myself beside her. With a quiet voice I instructed her which page to turn to. She flipped through the book obediently before reaching the desired passage.

"Read," I ordered.

Her eyes trailed over the words as a smile spread on her lips. Did it make her happy? Was she as happy as I used to be when I heard these stories? Lately, in the last century or so, they started to lose all meaning to me. Yet seeing her, so intent on this, just like my father used to be, took me back to the old days.

I think he would have liked her, Dad, I mean. If he had lived this long Fiona was the kind of girl I would have liked to bring home to him. I could imagine it now. They'd spend hours on end discussing their world travels. She'd have so many questions for him. He'd answer with such pride. If their was something more watching over me today, a God, Glob or whatever you want to call them, I wondered I he'd be merciful, allow my father's soul to see Fiona and how happy she made me. She brought love back into my heart like no one I had ever encountered.

"It's the story of Baby Jesus, the savior," I explained to her. "Today is his birthday."

Fiona looked up at me, shimmery eyed. "That must be pretty important to you."

I shrugged. "Nah, not really. I'm not all that religious," that was true. The reason I cherished these holidays, the Bible and faith in general was more of a way for me to honor and remember my father.

"But this Book...you do love it don't you?"

"'Regardless of if it tells the truth or even exaggerates the truth, it has very good lessons to teach,'" I quoted my father. "I wouldn't say I love it but I hope you will."

Fiona smiled, placing one soft, warm hand on my cheek. I froze in place. She leaned in closer and in a perfect fleeting moment her lips were locked to mine. It was so gentle and careful that I could barely fell the press of her kiss. Yet it was there. I could sense the heat and the love in it.

"Thank you, Marshall," she sighed, pulling away from me. "You're acting cool but I know this must have been hard. Thank you for sharing this with me."

My hard mask slipped away, leaving only room for the raw feelings that stirred inside me. Some of them were good, others bad. But for a second I was able to embrace all of them in a harmonious way. I leaned in and gave her a kiss of my own. It was short, sweet and peaceful. Nothing could top it. My sense came back to me and I pulled away, holding back the regret in my heart.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around then," I whispered. "Merry Christmas, Fiona."

I gave her one last peck and flew in a dash out the window. Usually Christmas was a time to give and receive. I had shown up there expecting only to give. But Fiona, from the pure goodness of her heart managed to give me something without even realizing it. Fiona gave me the gift of miner peace. Calmness washed over me and when I arrived home I was able to cry and laugh for the good and the bad of my childhood. I could release the pain I had internalized for so long. I could be the Marshall my father had always wanted me to be. A kind, loving Marshall.

...

...

Merry Christmas, Fiona.

* * *

**I hope you all enjoyed this story. Thank you for reading! Please review and share your thoughts. :)**


End file.
